by Nora Roberts
Dimitri unhooked the gold and rubies from her wrist. “You’ll join me for breakfast, I hope.”
“Of course.” Whitney swept toward the door, pausing as Dimitri opened it. She stood trapped between him and Remo. “Good night.”
“Good night, Whitney.”
She held to cool silence until the door of the sitting room locked behind her. “Sonofabitch.” Disgusted, she took off the delicate Italian slippers that had been provided for her and threw them at the wall.
Trapped, she thought. Locked up just as tidily as the treasure chest—to be gazed upon, fondled. Owned. “In a pig’s eye,” she said aloud. She wanted to weep and wail and beat her fists against the locked door. Instead, she stripped off the ivory silk and left it in a heap before she marched into the bedroom.
She’d find a way, Whitney promised herself. She’d find a way out, and when she did, Dimitri would pay for every minute she’d been his prisoner.
For a moment she rested her head against the armoire because the urge to weep was almost too strong to resist. After she’d controlled it, Whitney reached inside for a teal blue kimono. She needed to think, that was all. She just needed to think. The scent of flowers permeated the room. Air, she decided, and marched to the French doors that led to the tiny bedroom balcony.
With her teeth set, she yanked open the doors. It was going to rain, she thought. Good, the rain and wind might help clear her head. Resting her hands on the rail, she leaned out, looking toward the bay.
How had she gotten herself in this mess? she demanded. The answer was plain, two words. Doug Lord.
After all, she’d been minding her own business when he’d barged into her life and embroiled her in treasure hunts, killers, and thieves. At this moment, instead of being trapped like Rapunzel, she’d have been sitting in some nice smoke-choked club, watching people show off their clothes or their new hairstyles. Normal stuff, she thought grimly.
Now look at her, locked in a house in Madagascar with a smiling middle-aged killer and his entourage. In New York, she had an entourage, and no one would have dared turn a key on her.
“Doug Lord,” she muttered aloud, then looked down numbly as a hand clamped over hers on the rail. Whitney drew in her breath to scream when the head popped over.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Doug said between his teeth. “Now help me over, goddamn it.”
She forgot everything she’d just been thinking about him and bent over to cover his face with kisses. Who said there wasn’t any Seventh Cavalry?
“Look, sugar, I appreciate the welcome, but I’m losing my grip. Give me a hand.”
“How’d you find me?” she demanded as she reached down to help him over the rail. “I didn’t think you’d ever come. There are guards out there with these nasty little machine guns. My doors’re all locked from the outside, and—”
“Jesus, if I’d remembered you talked so much I wouldn’t have bothered.” He landed lightly on his feet.
“Douglas.” She wanted to cry again but held the tears back. “It’s so nice of you to drop in like this.”
“Yeah?” He strolled through the French doors into the opulent bedroom. “Well, I wasn’t sure you wanted any company—especially after that cozy little dinner you had with Dimitri.”
“Were you watching?”
“I’ve been around.” Turning, he fingered the rich silk of her lapel. “He gave you this?”
Her eyes narrowed at the tone, her chin tilted. “Just what are you implying?”
“Looks like a nice setup.” He wandered to her dresser and drew the top from a crystal decanter of scent. “All the comforts of home, right?”
“I hate to state the obvious, but you’re an ass.”
“And what’re you?” He pushed the stopper back into the bottle with a snap. “Walking around in fancy silk dresses he bought for you, drinking champagne with him, letting him put his hands on you?”
“His hands on me?” She said the words slowly, letting them sink in.
Doug gave her a look that skimmed from her bare legs to the milky skin of her throat. “You sure know how to smile at a man, don’t you, sugar? What’s your cut?”
Each step measured, Whitney walked over, reared back, and slapped him as hard as she could. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the wind kicking up against the open windows.
“You’ll get away with that once,” Doug said softly as he ran the back of his hand over his cheek. “Don’t try it again. I’m not a gentleman like your Dimitri.”
“Just get out,” Whitney whispered. “Get the hell out. I don’t need you.”
There was an ache in him that far outdid the sting in his cheek. “Don’t you think I can see that?”
“You don’t see anything.”
“I’ll tell you what I saw, sugar. I saw an empty hotel suite. I saw that you and the box were gone. And I saw you here, nuzzling up to that bastard over a rack of lamb.”
“You’d have rather found me tied to the bedpost with bamboo shoots under my nails.” She turned away. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on then?”
“Why should I?” Furious, she brushed a tear away with the back of her hand. Damn, she hated to cry. Worse, she hated to cry for a man. “You’ve already made up your mind. Your very limited mind.”
Doug dragged a hand through his hair and wished he had a drink. “Look, I’ve been going crazy for hours. It took me the better part of the afternoon to find this place, then I had to get through the guards.” And one of them, he didn’t add, was lying in the bushes with a slit throat. “When I get here, I see you dressed like a princess, smiling across the table at Dimitri as though you were the best of friends.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do? Run around naked, spit in his eye? Dammit, my life’s on the line. If I have to play the game until I find a way out, then I’ll play. You can call me a coward if you like. But not a whore.” She turned back again, her eyes dark, wet, and angry. “Not a whore, do you understand?”
He felt as though he’d just struck something small and soft and defenseless. He hadn’t been sure he’d find her alive, then when he had, she’d looked so cool, so beautiful. And worse, so in control. But shouldn’t he know her by now?
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” Edgy, he began to pace. He plucked a rose from a vase and snapped the stem in half. “Christ, I don’t know half of what I’m saying. I’ve been going nuts ever since I walked into the hotel and you were gone. I imagined all kinds of things—and that I was going to be too late to stop any of them.”
He looked dispassionately at the tiny drop of blood on his finger where a thorn had pierced the skin. He had to take a deep breath, and he had to say it quietly. “Dammit, Whitney, I care, I really care about you. I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here.”
She wiped at another tear and sniffed. “You were worried about me?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, then tossed the mangled rose onto the floor. There was no explaining to her, even to himself, the sick dread, the guilt, the grief he’d lived with during those endless hours. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you like that.”
“Is that an apology?”
“Yes, dammit.” He spun back, his face a study in frustration and fury. “You want me to crawl?”
“Maybe.” She smiled and walked toward him. “Maybe later.”
“Jesus.” His hands weren’t quite steady when they reached for her face, but his mouth was firm, and a little desperate. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I know.” She pressed against him, wild with relief. “Just hold me a minute.”
“After we’re out of here, I’ll hold you as long as you want.” Taking her shoulders, he drew her away. “You’ve got to tell me what happened, and what the setup is here.”
She nodded, then sank down on the edge of the bed. Why were her knees weak now when there was hope? “Remo and that B
arns character came.” He saw the quick, nervous swallow and cursed himself again.
“They hurt you?”
“No. You hadn’t been gone very long. I’d just run a bath.”
“Why didn’t they hold you there until I got back?”
Whitney lifted a foot and examined her toes. “Because I told them I’d killed you.”
His face, for a brief instant, was a study of incredulity. “What?”
“Well, it wasn’t difficult to convince them that I was a great deal smarter than you, and that I’d put a bullet in your brain so I could have the treasure to myself. After all, they’d’ve done the same thing to each other at the first opportunity, and I was convincing.”
“Smarter than me?”
“Don’t be offended, darling.”
“They bought it?” Not particularly pleased, he dipped his hands in his pockets. “They believed that a skinny female got the drop on me. I’m a professional.”
“I hated to tarnish your reputation, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Dimitri bought it too?”
“Apparently. I opted to play the material-minded, heartless woman with an eye on opportunity. I believe he’s quite charmed with me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I wanted to spit in his eye,” she said so fiercely Doug cocked a brow. “I still want the chance to. I don’t even think he’s human, he just slides from place to place leaving a slimy trail, spouting off his love for the finer things. He wants to hoard the treasure like a little boy hoarding chocolate bars. He wants to open the box, look, fondle, and think of the screams of people as the guillotine falls. He wants to relive the fear, see the blood. It means more to him that way. All the lives he took to get it mean nothing to him.” Her fingers closed over Jacques’s shell. “They mean absolutely nothing to him.”
Doug moved over to kneel in front of her. “We’re going to spit in his eye.” For the first time, he closed his fingers over hers on the shell. “I promise. Do you know where he’s stashed it?”
“The treasure?” A cold smile moved over her face. “Oh yes, he took great pleasure in showing it to me. He’s so damn sure of himself, so sure he’s got me pinned.”
Doug drew her to her feet. “Let’s go get it, sugar.”
It took him a little under two minutes to trip the lock. With the door open only a crack, he peered out to check for guards in the hall.
“Okay, now we move fast and quiet.”
Whitney slipped her hand in his and stepped into the hall.
The house was silent. Apparently when Dimitri retired, everyone retired. In darkness, they moved down the staircase to the first floor. The funeral-parlor smell, flowers and polish, hung thick. Whitney used a gesture of the hand to show Doug which way. Keeping close to the wall, they made their way slowly toward the library.
Dimitri hadn’t bothered to lock the door. Doug was a little disappointed, and a little wary that it was so easy. They slipped inside. Rain began to patter against the windows. Whitney went directly to the shelves on the east wall and drew back the section of books.
“It’s in here,” she whispered. “The combination’s fifty-two right, thirty-six left—”
“How do you know the combination?”
“I saw him open it.”
Uneasy, Doug reached for the knob. “Why the hell isn’t he covering his tracks?” he muttered as he began to turn. “Okay, what’s next?”
“Another five to the left, then twelve right.” She held her breath as Doug drew down the handle. The door of the safe opened without a sound.
“Come to Papa,” Doug murmured as he drew out the box. He checked its weight before he grinned at Whitney. He wanted to open it, to take just one more look. To gloat. There’d be other times. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea.” Tucking a hand through his arm she started toward the terrace doors. “Shall we use these so we don’t disturb our host?”
“It seems like the considerate thing to do.” As he reached for the knob, the doors swung open. Facing them were three men, guns glittering wet in the rain. In the center, Remo grinned. “Mr. Dimitri doesn’t want you to leave until he buys you a drink.”
“Yes, indeed.” The library doors opened. Still in his white dinner jacket, Dimitri strolled through. “I can’t have my guests going out in the rain. Do come back and sit down.” The amiable host, he went to the bar and poured brandy. “My dear, that color’s superb on you.”
Doug felt the barrel of Remo’s gun at the base of his spine. “I don’t like to impose.”
“Nonsense, nonsense.” He swirled the brandy as he turned. At his touch, the room flooded with light. Whitney would have sworn at that moment his eyes had no color at all. “Sit down.” The quiet order had all the charm of the hiss of a snake.
Pressed by the barrel of the gun, Doug came forward, the chest in one hand and Whitney’s palm in the other. “Nothing like a brandy on a rainy night.”
“Precisely.” Graciously, he passed two snifters to them. “Whitney …” Her name came out on a sigh as he gestured toward a chair. “You disappoint me.”
“I didn’t give her much choice.” Doug threw Dimitri an arrogant look. “A woman like her worries about her skin.”
“I admire chivalry, especially from so unlikely a source.” He tipped his glass at Doug before he drank. “I’m afraid I was aware of Whitney’s unfortunate attachment to you all along. My dear, did you really think I believed you’d shot our Mr. Lord?”
She shrugged, and though her hands were damp on the snifter, drank. “I suppose I have to work on my skill as a liar.”
“Indeed, you have very expressive eyes. ‘Even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart,’ ” he quoted from Richard II in his smooth, poet’s voice. “However, I did enjoy our evening together.”
Whitney brushed a hand over the short skirt of her robe. “I’m afraid I was a bit bored.”
His lips curled back. Everyone in the room knew it would take only a word from him, only a word, and she’d be dead. Instead, he chose to chuckle. “Women are such unstable creatures, would you agree, Mr. Lord?”
“Some show particularly good taste.”
“It amazes me that someone with Miss MacAllister’s inherent style would have an affection for someone of your class. But,” he moved his shoulders, “romance has always been a mystery to me. Remo, relieve Mr. Lord of the box, if you please. And his weapons. Just set them on the table for now.” While his orders were carried out, Dimitri sipped his brandy and seemed to ponder great thoughts. “I took the risk that you would want to retrieve both Miss MacAllister and the treasure. After all this time, after this very intriguing chess game we’ve been playing, I must say I’m disappointed to have you checkmated with such ease. I’d hoped for a little more flare at the end.”
“You want to send your boys away, you and I could probably come up with something.”
He laughed again, ice clinking on ice. “I’m afraid my days of physical combat are over, Mr. Lord. I prefer more subtle ways of settling disputes.”
“A knife in the back?”
Dimitri merely lifted a brow at Whitney’s question. “I’m forced to admit that one on one, you’d far outmatch me, Mr. Lord. After all, you’re young and physically agile. I’m afraid I require the handicap of my staff. Now …” He touched his finger to his lips. “What are we to do about this situation?”
Oh, he’s enjoying this, Whitney thought grimly. He’s like a spider, merrily spinning a web to catch flies so he can suck the blood from them. He wanted to see them sweat.
Because there was no way out, she slipped her hand into Doug’s and squeezed. They wouldn’t grovel. And by God, they wouldn’t sweat.
“As I see it, Mr. Lord, your fate is really quite elemental. In essence, you’ve been a dead man for weeks. It’s simply a matter of method.”
Doug gulped down brandy and grinned. “Don’t let me rush you.”
; “No, no, I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought. A great deal. Unfortunately, I haven’t the facilities here to carry things out in the style I prefer. But I believe Remo has a strong desire to take care of the matter. Though he did fumble quite a bit on this project, I feel the ultimate success deserves a reward.” Dimitri drew out one of his rich black cigarettes. “I’ll give you Mr. Lord, Remo.” He lit the cigarette and looked out through the fine mist of smoke. “Kill him slowly.”
Doug felt the cool barrel of the gun below his left ear. “Mind if I finish my brandy first?”
“By all means.” With a gracious nod, Dimitri turned his attention to Whitney. “As to you, my dear, I might have preferred a few more days in your company. I’d thought perhaps we could share some mutual pleasures. However …” He tapped the cigarette in a clear crystal tray. “Under the circumstances, that would add complications. One of my staff has admired you since I showed him your picture. A case of love at first sight.” He smoothed the thinning hair back from his forehead. “Barns, take her with my blessing. But do be tidy this time.”
“No!” Doug leapt up from his chair. In an instant his arms were clamped behind him and a gun was lodged against his throat. Hearing Barns’s giggle, he struggled despite them. “She’s worth more than that,” he said desperately. “Her father’d pay you a million, two million, to get her back. Don’t be a fool, Dimitri. Give her to this little creep, she’s worth nothing to you.”
“Not all of us think in terms of money, Mr. Lord,” Dimitri said calmly. “There’s a matter of principle at stake, you see. I believe as strongly in reward as I do in discipline.” His gaze flicked down to his mutilated hand. “Yes, just as strongly. Take him along, Remo, he’s creating quite a fuss.”
“Keep your hands off me.” Springing up, Whitney dashed the contents of her snifter in Barns’s face. With fury carrying her, she doubled up her fist and planted it squarely on his nose. His squeak and the squirt of blood gave her momentary satisfaction.
Doug took his cue from her and, bracing himself against the man behind him, reared back and smashed his foot under the chin of the man across from him. They might’ve been mowed down in that instant if Dimitri hadn’t signaled. He enjoyed watching the doomed struggle. Calmly he took the derringer from his inside pocket and fired into the vaulted ceiling.